Bondage
by azkabcn
Summary: Sherlock's daughter is back from her last year at uni. Her mother, whom neither of them have spoken to for four years, tries to contact them, and Sherlock needs his daughter to tell him that they are fine on their own. One-shot for Father's Day.


**A/N: A quickly written one-shot for Father's Day. Happy Father's Day to Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, to every father in the world, and to my very own. Have a nice one, Dad.**

* * *

"Beth!" I called from downstairs.

My nineteen year old daughter had just come home from university a couple of days ago, and had slept late both nights.

"Elsabeth, you need to get up, it's gone ten o'clock!"

I heard her voice call sleepily from her room: "coming, Dad!" and I had no choice but to smile to myself.

Beth's mother, Alison, was now out of the picture. After she started fawning after Inspector Lestrade, _Lestrade_ of all people, I divorced her, fighting for custody of my then fifteen year old daughter. I hadn't spoken to neither Lestrade nor Alison in four years.

"Hey, Dad?!" Beth called. I walked to the bottom of the stair case.

"Yes?" I replied.

"Seen my iPod charger?"

"Yes, it's here, in the kitchen drawer. Get dressed and come and get it!"

I heard her huff in annoyance as she realised I wasn't going to get it to her. "Fine!"

I went back to the living room and sat in my chair. We were now no longer in 221b Baker Street. We had moved closer to my best friends, John and Molly Watson, and their five year old son, Ben. After Mrs Hudson's death, her son and grandson took over as landlord, and I was _not_ about to let my Beth mix with the drunkard of a grandson.

I picked up my phone and turned it on. There was a call from an unknown number. However, as I studied it more closely, I realised it wasn't completely unknown. It was Alison's number. Why was _Alison_ calling me after four years of ignorance? I hadn't picked up her nor Lestrade's calls ever since the divorce papers came through the post. I would think she'd got the hint by now.

I sat staring at it, for the first time torn between whether or not to re dial the call. I didn't see Beth dressed in a black top under a button down, red checkered shirt, and her favourite stone coloured jeans. I only came to acknowledge her presence as she asked, "Dad?"

I looked up, startled."What, Beth?" I asked forcefully, without thinking.

That didn't faze my daughter. "Is something the matter, Dad?" she asked, walking closer.

I quickly shut off my phone and slid it in between the arm of the chair. "No, Beth. Sorry. I was just miles away there." I shook my head, and stood up. "Breakfast, right?" I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder.

"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned. "You never offer to make my breakfast. You haven't done that since I was twelve years old. Something's wrong, Dad. What is it?"

I sighed, running a hand through my black curls. This was the only problem with being a consulting detective: my offspring inherit it too, and use it against me. "Nothing, Elsabeth. Nothing." I walked past her into the kitchen. "I fancy some eggs benedict. You want some?" I asked, reaching into the refrigerator for the eggs.

I saw her roll her eyes at me, but at least she let the subject drop. "Yeah, whatever," she said as she walked into the kitchen. "Do you want help?"

"No, I'm alright, Beth, thanks," I replied, swiftly working my way through the recipe.

Her phone suddenly rang its jingly jangly Christmassy ring tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her study the number, just as I had done a few moments prior. "Uh, Dad?" she said, somewhat distractedly.

"Yes?" I said, giving her my full attention.

"Mum. Mum's calling. What do I do?"

I walked up to her, leaving the food on the stove. "Elsabeth, tell me, do you _want_ to talk to your mother?" I asked her softly.

"No-no, not particularly," was her reply.

"Then it's simple. Don't answer the call," I told her.

"OK," she said hesitantly. She pressed a button and the ringing stopped.

I finished making the eggs, plated them and handed a plate to my daughter. We sat in the living room, on our respective chairs. We sat in silence, only the clatter of cutlery on the plates sounding.

My phone beeped, notifying me that a text had been received. I put my plate on the table at the side and picked up my phone.

 **Answer the phone, Sherlock. - GL**

I swallowed, why were they suddenly trying to get a hold of us? I locked my phone again, picking up my plate. A nervous feeling started in my stomach. _Ignore it, Sherlock,_ I told myself.

I suddenly had lost my appetite. "I'm going to talk to Molly, OK?" I said, standing up.

I walked back into the kitchen with my phone and plate. I set the unfinished food on the counter and dialled Molly's number. I waited as the ring sounded. "Pick up, Molly," I muttered.

Suddenly, a young voice sounded. "Sherlock! Hi!"

I chuckled softly. "Hey, Ben. How are you?"

"Great!" he replied cheerfully.

"Fab. Mummy there, mate?" I asked.

"Mummy's out shopping. I can give it to Daddy, though?" he questioned.

"Alright," I decided, thinking talking to John about it might help ease my mind of my ex wife.

"Hello? Sherlock?" John said, a couple of minutes later.

"Hi, John. You busy?" I asked.

"If you count watching Power Rangers with Ben as busy, then yes. Otherwise, no. You OK?"

"Alison called. She called both me and Beth, and Lestrade texted me, telling me to answer the phone," I explained hastily.

"Oh. And you need a Life Check?" he asked. Life Check was our code for 'immediate distraction'.

"Life Check," I confirmed.

"... Ben's got accepted into the under seven's football team, in the leisure centre in the high street and he's begging me to join him."

That did the trick. I laughed. "That's our Benny," I said, smiling.

"And 'our Benny' is about to be an older brother!" John exclaimed.

"Really? You're serious?!" I asked, my smile only growing.

"We have a girl on the way!" I could tell he was extremely excited; he had a right to be: he was having another child.

"Oh, wow. Well, congratulations, John, and send Molly my love, too." A thought struck me. "Molly's pregnant and you're making her do the shopping?" I asked.

"She's only a month and a week along, y'know. I don't expect to be grocery shopping for at least another three months, Sherlock."

"Sneak!" I accused him.

"Hey, she insisted," John retaliated, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "How's Beth? She came home on Friday, didn't she?"

"Yeah. I didn't exactly realize how much I'd missed her." I sighed rather miserably at this.

"Well, she's nineteen, been at uni for a year, she needs a little fatherly love. Which I'm sure you can give her, right?"

"Yup. I can definitely do that," I declared.

"If not, bring her round to ours and I'll father her," he offered.

"Don't you dare get your filthy hands on my daughter! I can father her just fine!" I laughed.

"I won't, I promise. I need to dash, Ben wants me. Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

"Goodbye, Dr Watson." We hung up. Ever since my divorce, we had always used a formal farewell.

"Dad, can you come here, please?" Beth asked from the living room.

I walked into the room. "What is it, Beth?"

She showed me her phone.

 **For God's sake, Elsabeth, get your God damn father to answer his phone. Or else we'll make him. - AL**

I looked at my own phone. There were three missed calls from Lestrade and four from Alison.

I frowned. "Should I call them back?" I said to Beth.

"If you want to talk to them," she said as she shrugged.

"No. I don't," I replied.

"Then it's simple. Don't," she said.

Then suddenly, everything became clearer. I didn't need to talk to Lestrade, or Alison if I didn't want to. Beth and I were perfectly fine on our own. We didn't need them in our lives. We just needed each other.

Then she stepped forward and hugged me. I smiled and hugged her back, lightly kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Beth," I whispered.

"I love you, too, Dad," she replied.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed this. Happy Father's Day!**


End file.
